


Data Corruption

by NancyHartigan



Series: 2039 [3]
Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Established Relationship, Multi, Police Procedural, Tags May Change, android/human relationships
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-06-21
Updated: 2018-06-21
Packaged: 2019-05-26 16:00:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,792
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15004364
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NancyHartigan/pseuds/NancyHartigan
Summary: Well, it was a good six months of relative peace in the Anderson household. Connor was just starting to come to grips with his new free will, too.Unfortunately, it was going to be a little bit difficult when all android-related cases were still falling on him, and there seemed to be a sinister connection between some of the newest ones, and with some demons of Hank's own making themselves known, "equal footing" was not exactly what Connor is looking for.





	Data Corruption

MAY 15, 2039  
12:22 P.M.

* * *

 

Connor was starting to feel like he was the one cuckolded into android cases, even now. In his mind, it made a little bit of sense, all things considered, but at the same time, he really wanted to just shoot back to Fowler that he was in homicide now, at the risk of his already extremely veiled illusion of compliance.

At least Hank was a good sport, in his own way.

“Don’t look so frustrated,” Hank told him, opening the car door. “Consider it an expertise or something.”

“I’ll consider it an expertise when it stops being racist.” Connor unlocked his own door, following Hank toward the house.

“Fowler’s not one to change that much, give it a bit more time before you decide you wanna kick his ass. Don’t play the race card until we can get proof that he’s just giving you these jobs for anything except for the fact this is what you used to be programmed to do. Remember? Chasing deviants?”

“I don’t see why you think this is so funny,” Connor told him. “I seem to recall you saying if you had your way, you’d be throwing the lot of us into a dumpster and setting it on fire.”

“Yeah, well, you’re pretty damn cute when you’re mad.”

Connor wasn’t quite in the mood to figure out how that worked, just stopped walking for a second and let himself fall back to his programming for now. A missing android may not exactly be what he was hired to do, but her life just not going to start being important just by being a victim of a murder, and if she was safe, that would just be the end of that.

The man who opened the door looked a bit disappointed, having heard footsteps coming up the porch and opened the door before Connor and Hank could knock. “May I help you?”

Connor did not hesitate to scan the man. Yes, this was Ross Orwell, the owner of the missing android.

“Mr. Orwell, I’m Detective Connor Anderson. This is my partner, Lieutenant Hank Anderson. I believe that you were expecting me?”

Relief crossed the older man’s eyes and he opened the door the rest of the way. “Come in, come in. Thank you for taking this seriously, I know it’s probably stupid.”

“It’s not stupid at all,” Hank answered. “This guy goes missing I _know_ something happened to him and I’d get worried sick, too.”

“It’s just not _like_ her,” Orwell told him. “Nell’s just not the kind of girl to get up and walk out.”

Connor decided to look around while Hank talked to him. He was well aware which of them was better at talking to people. That admittedly didn’t take that much, all things considered.

The living room was immaculately kept, save for the coffee mugs and the ashtray that held at least two packs of cigarettes worth of butts sitting inside, magazines scattered on the coffee table. Connor stepped over a few toys on the floor to make his way toward the back wall, where pictures seemed to be lined up.

“How long has she been a deviant? Is it a new thing for her?”

“No, it’s not new at all. I…I have no idea when she deviated, when we got back from the evacuation she was already back home and she was just…different. In a good way.”

Connor made a note of that.

_Penelope deviated between November 10-25._

Who knew, that may be important later. Nobody who was unhappy in a situation was going to stick around for almost six months when they didn’t have to.

“Different how?” Hank asked, watching Connor approach the walls.

The pictures were definitely professional, a lovely family of five. Ross Orwell, his wife, a beautician named Francis, their two children, an eleven-year-old named David and fifteen-year-old Tania, along with their missing android, an AX400 model with some very unique modifications. Penelope, with her shoulder length, dyed hair and custom optioned eyes to simulate the same golden hazel as Tania’s. She would be rather easy to pick out in a crowd of androids.

“You know…different. Like, she’d insist at helping out in my wife’s home salon, I caught her doing Dave’s homework for him, she was leaving the door open for Tania to sneak home after curfew and then lie to me about it, buying outfits for herself and swapping clothes with Tania, just little things like that.”

A home salon? Well, that seemed like a good place to start looking for more clues, if you asked Connor. He caught Hank’s eyes and nodded toward the archway. If he could keep Orwell distracted while he kept poking around, that would be useful.

“Sounds like you have a case of teenager on your hands,” Hank told him.

“She wasn’t one of _those_ deviants, if that’s what you’re thinking, Nell was a _good girl,_ she wouldn’t have done anything like that.”

“Deviancy doesn’t work like that. They could be the nicest kid in the whole damn world and still be deviant. We’re just calling them that because they are deviating from basic programming.”

Connor slipped into the salon, noticing that it was empty for now. Francis must be out looking for the lost android. A quick check at the tablet with careful notes about her appointments and clients seemed to confirm that there should be an Amber Washington here currently, and nothing exactly looked like it was set up for a cut or color except for some combs, a pair of shears, and a brush left in some sort of chemical bath. The broom was propped up against the tiled wall, but there was a series of four-inch-long, blonde hairs still on the floor near a chair and mirror. A quick analysis announced that they belonged to the 8 pm client from the night before.

_Francis left in a hurry?_

Connor decided to lean out the still open window. It led to the alleyway between the Orwell’s house and the business next door. A fence marked the end of the alleyway to his right, trying to keep trespassers off of the residential property line, but that didn’t mean that it couldn’t be scaled; Connor has seen it done twice now. To the left ought to be the street and the front sidewalk, but the commercial dumpster was set against the residential building.

A quick research announced that it wasn’t too strange a scenario. Before the Orwells bought as a young couple twenty years ago and remodeled it, it used to be a tattoo parlor. Still, something didn’t sit right with Connor. He just couldn’t pinpoint what yet.

Without a word, Connor slipped back into the living room to see Hank surrounded by the kids as well, trying to offer what they could to help. The first thing that he noticed was that Tania’s hair had a similar cut and color combination to Penelope. It was only an inch or two longer, and the balayage work was a sapphire blue instead of the peacock teal of the android’s.

From the back, in the dark, it could be extremely easy to mistake the two. That was possibly related, if Penelope had not chosen to run away.

It turned out that Tania seemed to have a passion for photography, especially fashion photography. She had been working on her portfolio, which she had brought down, and Dave had several pictures of himself and Penelope on his camera.

Hank took the cell phone to look through endless selfies and video clips. Pictures of Penelope hugging him from behind, chin on his shoulder at a theme park, videos of him trying to teach his android how to use a skateboard or the two of them reciting lines from various school plays.

Connor was busy looking through experiments with lighting and poses, Penelope in oversized men’s shirts with her hair mussed and LED photoshopped out, floral sundresses walking outside with perfect makeup slightly smudged by a burst of water that had hit her just moments before, hats and sweaters as the snow fell around her, a side profile of her, LED bright in the darkness of her silhouette as she looked up to an endless amount of stars.

“Did Penelope model for you often?” Connor asked.

“She was always up for experimenting with _any_ idea I could come up with,” Tania said, voice cracking a little. Connor made a note of it. “Nell was always saying that I’m the best photographer and I needed to go to school for it and she was helping me out so much…”

“It sounds like you two were close,” Hank said, clearly not wanting to distress either of the kids. They were, after all, children.

“Does this portfolio have a story, or is it just your best work?” Connor asked as well. Tania probably needed some sort of distraction from her missing muse.

“Humanity,” Tania explained. “It was Nell’s idea. We wanted to play with the idea of humanity in androids, what it’s like to actually be somebody.”

“I see.” Connor handed the portfolio back. “I like that idea a lot.”

“You would,” Hank shot back without skipping a beat.

When the pair started to head back to the car, though, Connor paused and looked toward the alleyway.

“What’s up?” Hank asked.

“Penelope disappeared while she was taking out trash, right?”

“That’s what Orwell says,” Hank said, following Connor’s gaze. “Go do what you gotta do, I’ll make sure nobody’s in your way.”

The two headed toward the alley, Hank stopping near the entrance, and Connor going a few yards deeper, back to the window, and did a quick scan.

What hit him first was thirium, right against the corner of the dumpster. It must have evaporated, because Hank didn’t say a word about it and he was right within the line of sight for it. Very carefully, Connor reached out to touch it and bring his fingers back to his mouth.

“HEY!” Hank moved away from his spot to try to grab Connor’s wrist, only to register it was too late and his finger was against his tongue. Hank let go with a disgusted noise. “Don’t ‘sample’ the fucking dumpster, Connor, Jesus Fucking Christ!”

Connor made a pointed effort to ignore him, that or his processors were too busy to register, it was hard to tell even for him sometimes.

“It’s an AX400’s blood. About 14 hours old.”

Hank tried to fight away the cringe and the mental reminder that he was not going to be kissing Connor any time soon, but his own blood went a little cold once it registered what Connor was saying. “…Fuck. Call it in.”


End file.
